The Art of War
by Entr0py
Summary: At seventeen, Cal Calore takes his fifteen-year-old brother, Maven, to his first visit at the war front. While he initially hates it at first, Maven meets a friend who makes it all worth it. Pre-RQ. Three-shot.
1. i

**(or on Maven's first visit to the front, he meets someone new.)**

* * *

Cal gently nudged his brother forward. Maven had seemed content to just take in his surroundings at first, but the fifteen-year-old reluctantly huffed and kept going like Cal silently told him to. The Nortan camps were flat and barren from countless hours, days, and weeks of fighting and working on their turf, but it was the closest that any safety could possibly be to the actual battle, and to the Choke. The only slightly striking thing about it was the snow covering the ground, for Maven had always been fond of snow, but that was that and that was all.

"What will you be doing?" Maven asked, glancing back to meet his brother's gaze, hesitant. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, though he didn't really need to due to his ability.

Cal's gaze softened. Clearly, Maven thought, slightly irked, Cal wanted to believe that he was a little boy who didn't know anything without his big brother helping him. There were royal guards following them everywhere - no, Cal, I don't need to be _babied_ all the time, he practically ached to say.

"I have a meeting to go to." Cal inclined his head to one of the larger buildings that had been set up at the camp. "I hate to leave."

Maven grunted. "I'll be fine," he said, trying not to sound dry and quite clearly failing.

Luckily, his brother seemed to take this in whatever was the lightest possible way because he merely laughed and said his goodbyes before leaving. There was a moment of silence before Maven peered over his shoulder at the guards and said, "You are dismissed." There were clear protests on the guards' minds, but Maven straightened and said, "I have just been given a tour and I'm going to be fighting on my own eventually. I refuse to be-" he curled his lip "- _pampered_."

And then that was that. Sentinels could not refuse a direct order from their prince, especially without Cal or Elara there to insist they stay and overrule his order.

It made him very uncomfortable that he had the least power in his family. But he tried to ignore it as he set off.

He felt free to explore for now, because Cal's tour had really only shown him the outside of the buildings, and Maven had a feeling he wouldn't really be all that busy until the important meeting that Cal was needed in was over. Most likely he would only be needed when Cal was, as per usual. Maven continued to roam, inspecting the wintry camp silently. He had nothing to do but waste time in the chill until Cal was finished his meeting.

He stumbled across what was clearly one of the newer areas of the camp. There was some building that was being worked on, and a bunch of Reds were gathered around some wood, logs, and cement with hammers and saws and other tools Maven had occasionally seen in Cal's garage whenever he went down to visit. Some were chopping logs, some were trying to scrape snow off of the framework, others were measuring and working. They were all wearing hardhats, if that was what they were called - Maven never knew. Maven rubbed his hands up and down his arms, calling his ability to the surface to warm himself.

Suddenly, someone bumped into him. Another male voice let out a little "ugh".

Maven recovered from his stumble and whirled to face whoever had bumped into him. He opened his mouth to say something, realistically to bark at whoever had ran into him for bumping into a prince so carelessly. "Sorry," the boy in front of him grunted, ending that thought rather quickly. _Sorry_ was a bit of a perplexing response, at least to Maven. If someone else had bumped into him and recognized him, they would probably grovel in hopes that he didn't run off and tattle to Cal. He still did have a bit of that reputation despite the fact that he was fifteen, with no need to tattle, and had also never been up to the front before.

 _So that must be it,_ Maven thought. _He must not recognize me_. "It's okay," he replied, hoping to sound normal.

The boy scrutinized him, so Maven scrutinized the boy as well. He had messy dark brown hair that seemed almost black, and brown skin clearly flushed with red, but he was paler than most of the other Reds that he had seen around Archeon and Summerton. His eyes were brown, too, but were sharp and alight with something like mirth, as though he'd just heard a joke. The Red was wearing the same outfit as all of the others around the building with the exception of a scarf tied around his neck, so Maven assumed he was a worker here for one of the permanent buildings. One of those hardhats was tucked under one arm, and a box full of tools like one Cal often carried was held in his other hand.

The boy let out a breath. "Shouldn't you be with your legion?" he asked.

Maven inwardly thanked the fact that he was tall enough to be mistaken for a rather short eighteen-year-old and at least a little muscular from all the training. And the fact that he was an excellent liar. "Ours was… ambushed." He put a little sadness into his voice while still trying to maintain a gruff tone. "Too many of us were injured - couldn't keep going on our own, so they pulled us back."

"Oh," the boy said. He frowned. "That's awful." He had an accent, Maven noticed. Hardly detectable, but there. He couldn't quite make out where it was from.

Maven wasn't quite sure how to respond, so he said, "…Yeah, it is." And then, to avoid the subject, "What are you working on?"

"'M not quite sure," the boy said. "Was just gonna bring them some tools. I come from one of the slums in the north, see," he added at Maven's surprised look. "So 'm just here with some more guns and tools and I work on 'em whenever they break or whatever."

"…You're here for _life_?" Maven asked, a bit concerned.

The boy laughed. "No, no!" He shook his head. "They'll send me back eventually, y'know. To the slums." His voice sounded a bit sad. Maven almost felt sorry for him. He had seen the slums from the outside, and they weren't all too pretty. To think of even living there… Maven shook himself. He wasn't supposed to feel sorry for _Reds_.

"Anyway, doesn't matter. Not really." The boy waved his hand as he continued to ramble, as if waving off a fly. "Just gotta enjoy my time here, yeah? Though it must not be as fun for you." He cast Maven a wary look like he thought he was being offensive.

Maven wracked his brain for a response before replying, "Yeah, I'd give anything to be back home." He frowned just to add a bit of realism to the whole thing.

It seemed he picked the right thing to do, because the Red didn't look suspicious at all, only nodded sympathetically. There was a little pause, and Maven was about to speak again when the boy dropped his hardhat and gently tugged the scarf off his neck. He held it out to Maven, who merely stared, stunned. "Go on, take it," urged the boy. "You look kinda cold. I'm used to this sorta weather."

Gently, Maven slid the scarf from the boy's hand and wrapped it around his own neck. He didn't need it, what with his ability keeping him warm and all, but with it on he felt a million times warmer already. He smiled at the boy.

"I'm Thomas, by the way," the worker told him.

"I'm Maven," replied the prince. He wanted to hit himself for telling Thomas his real name, but at the same time, Maven felt like he deserved to know it. "Nice to meet you."

And that was that.

* * *

 **also posted on tumblr and probably gonna be posted on wattpad but im actually really proud of this so! yeah  
**


	2. ii

**(or maven's new friend is better than any before him.)**

* * *

Maven did not see Thomas again for a little while.

When he had gotten back to the building where he and Cal were staying (not tents or small and cramped buildings; it wasn't anything massive, but certainly more than the others got), he'd lounged around for a while. His brother had returned and asked him where the scarf came from. Maven realized with a start that he hadn't taken the scarf off and put it away like he'd told himself to do. But he found that he just didn't really want to take off Thomas's scarf. He also knew that this attachment would come off strange to Cal if it came off so strange to himself, so effortlessly he lied, "I brought it from home. I don't need it… it's just to remind me."

As expected, this melted any and all of Cal's suspicion. Maven knew Cal was fond of doing two things: One, turning a blind eye to whatever antics Maven was up to, and two, thinking Maven was weak and sentimental. While those things irritated him to no end, it was incredibly helpful most of the time whenever he needed to get away with something. _Like being unnaturally attached to a scarf some random stranger gave me_ , Maven thought, frowning.

No, not some random stranger. A… friend.

Also, Cal would most likely disapprove of him making friends with Reds. That was reason enough to not really tell him why he was so attached to the scarf.

Two days passed. Maven was rather busy following Cal around and doing nothing else. His brother told him of important things that were happening in the war; casualties, strategies, et cetera. Maven had to pay some attention because Cal knew he was quite good at strategizing when he wanted to be, so he was often poked and prodded at to help. He reluctantly did so, but the whole time he felt like something was just not right.

On the third day of his being at the front, Cal wasn't busy, so Maven wasn't busy either.

They were lounging alone in that little building of theirs. "Want to play chess?" Cal asked casually. Maven tilted his head, pretending to consider. "Or train?" Cal added.

"No thank you," Maven replied. His brother nodded. Sometimes, on days like these, Cal wasn't so pushy. He got stressed very easily and liked to relax and enjoy the time off that he got. He was always working on one thing or another, be it his machines or his strategies or his princely duties and actively enjoyed the time he had free. Maven often felt like the opposite, for he was never quite at home whether he was working or not. He let the silence linger before he got up.

Cal turned to glance at him. "What are you doing?"

"I think I'm just going to go out. We never see the forest in this season when we're in Archeon, right?" said Maven. Cal opened his mouth to respond before closing it. Right, Cal had been up to the front before, and Cal had been out of the castle before. He had probably seen the forest in winter enough for a lifetime. But Maven hadn't, so that was his excuse, and he left the building without another word.

As soon as he stepped out into the cold, he wasn't quite sure what to do. Going back inside would seem foolish, certainly. But he wasn't sure what he'd do out here, either. Maybe go see Thomas, but he had only seen Thomas once and didn't know where he'd be. Running into him again at the house probably wouldn't happen and would just be dumb luck. But he had no idea where else Thomas would be. Not with the soldiers, because he was a worker -

Ah, there it was. _Thomas is a worker_. So then, the only reasonable thought would be a work _shop_ , right? But where on Earth would he find a workshop?

Maven carefully slid back into the building. He called, "Hey, Cal, do you work on the machines down here?"

"No," Cal responded, sounding quite sad about it.

"…Is there a workshop down here? You can come down with me."

Cal let out a sigh, kicking back on the couch that he was lounging on. "There's one right on the shore of Lake Tarion." _Yes, Lake Tarion_. Most of the tents and buildings were around the shore of that. It was the furthest east of those massive lakes, whatever they were called. Maven thanked his brother before turning and leaving. He made his way down to the lake, snow crunching under his boots. Today the sky was overcast, and when he finally reached the lake, he was surprised to see that some of it had been practically frozen over. He frowned, feeling guilt prick at him. Was it _really_ that cold? He hadn't noticed, he was a burner of course, but maybe he should give the scarf back if it was really so-

 _Stop it,_ he barked at himself. _Stop feeling sorry for Reds!_

If you aren't supposed to be feeling sorry for Reds, a taunting voice in his head whispered, then why are you going back to Thomas?

Maven swallowed, ignoring the burning in his throat, and turned to the tent on the shore. A tent. Not even an actual building for Thomas and whatever other workers were down here, suffering and working in the cold and bleak winter, and _when did he start noticing these things?_ Forcefully, Maven shook his head as if to clear it and then hurried to the tent before he got any more bad ideas. It was a fairly large tent, actually. He slipped inside without much hassle.

There were surprisingly few Reds in the massive tent. It wasn't much warmer in here, though maybe Maven didn't have much of a sense of temperature, but most of them were sweating at their metal desks as they worked over their supplies. Maven could count five. Being generous, there must have been some of them helping at that new building. Two were working together, and the other three were working separately. The team was poring over some guns which had probably malfunctioned in some way or another. Thomas was furthest in the back. None of them looked up when he entered.

Maven felt like he belonged, strangely enough.

He walked to the back of the tent. For a second, he stood in front of the table, not quite sure what to do. Thomas's brow was furrowed, sweat shining on his forehead. He was laying guns out on the table, the sweat from the heavy lifting. Maven reluctantly broke the silence with, "Hello."

Thomas started. Maven's voice was rather quiet when he wanted it to be, so he didn't think many other people heard. "Oh, it's you," Thomas said, rather surprised when he looked up. "Didn't think I'd be seein' you again so soon, heh." A pause. "What're you here for?"

Maven shrugged. Thomas wordlessly shoved a stool over from his side of the table. Maven sat down. "I've got time to spare," the prince said, weaving a story as he went. "They found an infection in my leg - real nasty. And they said I should take it easy for a little bit."

"Did they," replied the Red. He looked pretty shocked. "Man, that's pretty bad. 'N you came all the way down here?"

"My brother," Maven said. "He likes… mechanics." With a start, Maven realized that was one of the first true things he had told Thomas besides his name. Thomas put down one of the guns, turning to face him in what was obviously interest. "He's older than me, and he went to the front before me, so I…" He tilted his head. He felt almost guilty for leaving out details, even though he knew he owed Thomas nothing. "Just reminds me of him, I guess," he said, gesturing around.

Thomas gave a nod. "I have a sister, see," he said. Maven glanced at him in surprise. "Younger than me, but smart as a whip. But she's stuck down in the slums all the time." He lowered his gaze to the table, pain flickering in his brown eyes. "Even if she got a reprieve and came up here, she'd still have to do all o'…" He gestured to the guns on the table that he had been laying out before, but had stopped at the mention of his sister. "This."

"That's horrible." Maven's voice cracked. He was surprised at his own sincerity, but he was sincere. He had never looked twice at the slums before, never thought about the people working there. "I hope she'll be able to leave someday," he murmured. "What's her name?"

Thomas replied, "Callie."

Maven blinked. He tried to lighten the mood by saying, "How strange. My brother's name is Cal."

Thomas peered up at him. He smiled, clearly appreciating the tone change, and answered, "Isn't that funny? It's like we're made to be friends, ha-ha." Maven thought for a minute that it was sarcastic, but Thomas was from the slums… maybe he was just that innocent. And maybe he really did like Maven that much. So Maven laughed, too.

"I don't like mechanics that much. Not as much as my brother, anyway," he said. "And you must be tired of it with all of the work you do, right?"

Thomas nodded. "I'm good at it, but I don't like it. Y'know the feeling?"

Maven shrugged. "I'm not good at much of anything," he admitted.

"Oh, don't be like that," insisted Thomas. He grinned slightly. "A lot of people have told me that I'm annoying, and you're still here, so you've gotta be very patient."

The prince almost doubled over, trying to keep in his laughter. But a few laughs still escaped from him. "I don't think - you're annoying," he choked out between his chuckles.

"Then you see the best in people," suggested Thomas before bursting into laughter himself. The others in the tent continued working - clearly used to the noise - but Maven and Thomas practically howled. It wasn't even that _funny_ , really. But the prince usually didn't have too many friends to laugh with, and took pleasure in the fact that he could for once.

"Awh, man," Maven gasped, wiping the tears from his eyes. He hadn't laughed that hard since… since he'd been really young. Cal would always love to make him laugh. Nowadays Cal didn't have time for him anymore. But Thomas - Thomas was his friend, Thomas had time for him. So Maven decided that he didn't really need Cal, anyway. He had a _real_ friend now. And it didn't matter whether he was red or silver or whatever. Because he was enough.

And he made Maven feel like he was enough, too.

And so together, the two friends chatted the night away. They talked about everything and anything; favorite activities, family members, talents, favorite foods, you name it. Thomas revealed that he was seventeen - too young to be conscripted, but thrown up here because he was good with machines. He and his family were often separated because of the work that they had to do, but Thomas told him it made the times they were together all the more valuable. Maven secretly envied Thomas, wishing he had a tight family like that. In return, Maven confessed a few things about his family. He twisted a few details of course, but the bare bones were the same; Cal was a bright, talented boy, their father only had eyes for Cal, and his mother needed to settle down so she much preferred he, Maven. He tried not to sound bitter, but it didn't really work.

"Of course," Maven said, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck above the scarf, "I'm not trying to say it's worse than your situation, but–"

"Nah, I didn't take it that way," Thomas insisted. "We're like, pals. You can say whatever you want." He laughed.

Maven smiled. He liked the feeling of being able to say whatever he wanted; with Cal it felt like he was walking on eggshells. "Well, it's nice to have a friend outside of the village," he replied, waving his hand.

"Mm, yeah, though I guess I didn't have many friends in the slums," said Thomas thoughtfully. "Hey, maybe you should get back. It's almost sundown."

Really? Almost sundown? thought Maven in surprise. "I guess you're right." He stood up and stretched like a cat. "Thanks for looking out for me," he said, grinning.

Thomas shook his head in dismissal. "We're pals," he repeated lazily. "It doesn't bother me."


	3. iii

**(maven learns his friend is not one to be taken for granted.)**

* * *

Maven kept up routine meetings with Thomas.

They were almost daily. Sometimes Maven would have a hard time getting away from his duties or stay up too late to go visit his friend. As the days went by and turned into weeks, Maven became busier and busier. Father had said they were to stay at the front for three months, then they would be brought home. As the deadline crept closer and closer, Maven felt more and more distraught. He didn't _want_ to leave. He'd came here hating it more than anything, but now, he didn't want to return to the bland and boring court, unfriendly and hostile. He supposed that, like Cal, he found a bit of freedom in the war front. Cal's freedom was in fighting. Maven's freedom was in friends.

But most of all, as the days passed, Maven steadily came to see that he didn't want to leave Thomas. Their conversations were the highlight of his day.

Thomas, Maven learned, really enjoyed drawing. "Sometimes they have us do blueprints, right," Thomas had told him. "Or do designs for them or… whatever. It's really fun, t' me anyway. I like it." His tone had become wistful. "They don't let us do it often down there. But when I have spare time up here, sometimes I'll just take out some paper n' design or draw things. Kinda calming, see."

"Drawing's nice," Maven agreed, though he had stopped it a long time ago because it was often considered childish. He stared out over the lake. They were on the shore, watching the sun steadily creep towards the horizon. Already, a tinge of pink had begun to creep over the sky. Maven had set up a fire - trying his best to conceal how he did it - and the two of them had sat around it together, Maven wrapped in the scarf Thomas had gave him, Thomas fiddling with some piece of machinery or another. "I like to read."

"Do you?" said Thomas, curious. "We don't get many books up in the slums."

Maven shrugged. "My parents were… wealthy enough to get me some books that I liked. It's fun to read them. You can just… imagine a lot of things." He seemed to be grasping for a reason. "Escapism, I guess."

Thomas tilted his head. "Escapism would be nice," he said after a minute. "But there are no libraries, y'know. So we can't even get that many if we wanted to."

Maven huffed a sigh. He had grown more used to the disappointment of what Thomas had to deal with when he lived in the slums. Thomas had even told him once that the food here, at the front, was better than any of the food he ate at the slums. It was awful in Maven's eyes. Thomas had made him realize a lot of things that he hadn't before, consider things about Reds and their lives and the slums. He'd never bothered to think about it. Like Cal, he had automatically taken to the 'Red below Silver' balance as his mentality. Then he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts of his brother. "Your sister might like books if she ever got a chance to read one," he said instead.

Thomas smiled a little bit, moving closer to the fire. "I think she would, too."

And for a while, that was how it remained. Maven did whatever duties he needed to do, then slipped off to find Thomas. They bonded over anything and everything. Maven told Thomas a lot of things that he didn't tell anybody else, even Cal. Thomas was one of the people that Maven trusted the most. But at the same time, Maven felt like there was a weight to them. As winter continued on, clouds overhead became more frequent, and more times did snow fall. The Calore princes had been at the front for two months, which meant Maven had only one more month until he'd leave. And possibly never see Thomas again.

He asked Thomas what his full name was and wrote it down. Just in case.

One day, he had followed Cal into that building where he met with all the other officials. Maven's leg bounced up and down. His fingers drummed on his thigh. His mind screamed in his head, _Not right not right not right_. But Maven was a fool, and his gut instinct was also usually wrong, so he kept his mouth shut. Do not speak unless spoken to–

The door slammed open.

"Lakelanders," a soldier gasped. He fell over. Cal shot out of his seat like he'd been fired at. He dashed through the door, fire already snaking around him. "Attacking," the soldier wheezed.

The generals muttered to themselves before dispersing. But Maven was frozen. Frozen, on his feet, one hand pressed against the table to not fall over. One name running through his mind. Alarm bells on high alert. _Thomas, Thomas, Thomas._

Something in his mind clicked. He threw himself out the door, nearly barreling over the soldier who'd just stood up. Guards behind him cried, "Your Highness, no–" but he did not care, he did not care, _he did not care_. The path he'd memorized to the workshop by Lake Tarion – faster, faster, _you're too slow_! It was faster than he'd ever run but still not enough. His guards were gaining on him, but he needed to find him, needed to find Thomas. He skidded down to the lake, nearly stumbling over his feet.

There were soldiers in the tent, dragging out Reds. "NO!" he bellowed.

Brown hair so dark it was almost black, light brown skin, wide, russet-colored eyes glinting with fear instead of mirth, his head swiveling to him. "Maven!" A gasp a plea a cry, _I'll save you I'll save you_. "Maven, run, run, get ou–"

He lunged, lunged for Thomas. Hands pulled on his arms, yanked him back, caged him in like a wild animal. "THOMAS!" he screamed. "Thomas–" his voice cracked "–no, please, anyone but him, I–"

"Your Highness, please stop this."

Maven didn't hear, didn't hear anything. All he could see was Thomas, the Lakelanders dragging him away, a gun lifting to his head. "No," Maven gasped. " _No_!"

"Maven, run!" yelled Thomas. "Get–"

There was a gunshot.

Maven saw red.

His blood, his blood, everywhere, his body carelessly thrown to the side by the Lakelanders. Maven screamed. Something unearthly, unintelligible but he didn't care. Thomas is dead, Thomas is dead, Thomas is dead.

"You _killed_ him!"

The guards pleaded, begged. "Your Highness, we have to get back, stop this!"

"LET ME _GO_!"

Thomas's blood was everywhere now. On the sand where they had once laughed together. Spilling where that fire had been. Staining his already dirty clothes. On the Lakelanders' hands, on the guards who were caging him's hands, on his hands. Thomas's wide brown eyes stared off into _nothing nothing nothing_. "I'm gonna _kill you_ ," Maven swore, still yelling at the top of his lungs. To his guards, to the Lakelanders, to anyone who had dared to play a part in Thomas's death. He would destroy them, one by one by one, until they all had the same fate as Thomas, Thomas who didn't deserve it, Thomas who he loved more than anything, Thomas the best person he'd ever met-

Someone slammed him over the head with their rifle.

He fell unconscious.

* * *

"Your Highness, sir, we must get back to Archeon."

Maven's eyes slowly opened.

"I thought it was a three-month trip." Cal's voice came to him, sounding perplexed. Maven chanced a glance to his side to see Cal standing there. He shut his eyes to get a good listen of their conversation.

"It was supposed to be," the guard said carefully.

Cal scoffed. "A Lakelander attack is going to stop this?"

The guard moved, judging by the unique sound of their footsteps. "Your Highness, look at your brother. We most certainly cannot keep him here after this."

More footsteps. The chair besides him squeaked. When Cal spoke again, his voice was softer. "My brother is strong. Maven is often underestimated, I think. Surely he will recover–"

"I did not mean physically, sir. But mentally… he had quite an outburst that day. He should take some time off."

"Outburst?" asked Cal. "What do you mean–"

"Perhaps it's better if you talk about that yourself," the guard said softly. There was the squeak of a door opening, then the guard's footsteps, then it closing. Maven didn't know how long it was until Cal sighed, got up, and left as well.

Once alone, Maven drifted back into a comfortable sleep, which he had been half longing for and half dreading.

(All Maven remembered from the dream was a gunshot. Whatever it was, though, it was enough for Cal to discover his brother crying when he peeked back in.)


End file.
